


Souvenirs

by noirpierrot



Category: The Notebook/The Proof/The Third Lie - Agota Kristof
Genre: Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Not incest but. At the sime time. Yes., its complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 14:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18100733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noirpierrot/pseuds/noirpierrot
Summary: Luas and Peter share a language only known to them.





	1. Chapter 1

 

I caress his face. I run a finger along his cheek, his nose, his lips. I know he's not sleeping, but if he minds my touching he doesn't show it. I wake up early in the morning to make him breakfast. Nothing too laborious, a cup of coffee and a mushroom omelette. We eat in comfortable silence, the one we have grown attached to. He finishes, thanks me, and then runs off to open the bookshop.  
  
Lucas doesn't come to me unless he has some trouble, some secret he knows I can keep. Other times he comes late at night to tell me about his nightmares. The amalgamation of burned bodies that reaches to grab at his ankles with a death’s grip. They ask for bread,but his pockets are empty, save for a handful of bullet shells. The skeleton of his mother and her baby pace around the house. He hears them outside his bedroom. They are waiting for him to come out.

The worst ones are the ones that have to do with his brother, _Claus_.  

He shivers when the name falls from his lips. The layer of ice in which he hides all doubt, sorrow and insecurity, melts when he is bombarded with emotions that he can’t reason. These are the beasts of the night and they have come to claim him, he says. His eyes go wide with terror.  
  
The distance closes between us. I hold him. I let my fingers run beneath his hair. I whisper things I never thought I’d whisper, much less to someone who is not my lover. I tell him that nothing can happen now. I tell him the nightmares are silent.                                                                                                                  

When we wake up our bodies are tangled and covered in layers of cheap satin, worn wool, and dried sweat.  
  
One day he tells me:

‘You love me, even though I don't love you.’

I watch him spread butter on a piece of toast. It's the morning after his most recent nightmare. We are both tired, somnolent. But we have grown attached to this routine, and so it doesn’t show.

  
I open a book I haven’t finished, and say:

‘Of what use would it be lying to you?’

  
‘It would be of no use.’ He reassures me.

He fixates his grey eyes on mine.

 

 

First he holds me by the wrists, against the straw bed. He calls me _sweetheart, angel, whore._   I struggle and scream until those screams belong to someone else. A parent-less boy, perhaps. An authentic souvenir of the war. No one cares about the souvenirs unless they become a problem. I get hard and I come when he forces his fingers down my throat.  
  
I was already an orphan when he found me, the foreign officer. His beauty is something that I try to forget, but I'm reminded of it in moments of overbearing solitude and shame, which are many. - In the corner of my wardrobe where I keep my shoes and the light never reaches. Along the walls of a damp, dark alleyway. The insinuating smiles of young men I meet at the bar. When I indulge my vice I feel his smile pressed against my neck. He's everywhere and he's nowhere. He’s my nothing and he’s my everything.  
  
I try not to become a problem. I finish my education, I get a job helping those that need help. I don't let my vice consume me despite life's many seductions. I manage to gain a resemblance of normality in my life and I soon make friends. Many of them fall between my fingers like grains of sand, but not Victor.   We share the same vice, though not with each other. I am too lonely and ashamed to admit that he irritates me, yet I find myself drinking with him every weekend. It’s the only way I can handle him. He tells me about the bookshop he bought in order to write his book. I tell him I have no idea why a man would buy a bookshop in order to write a book. He laughs. He cries.  
  
I don’t know why I kiss Lucas. His lips are soft. He doesn't move. He aches for it, I can feel it. My touch brings relief to his body so long deprived of affection. I hold and look at his face, and I see in his eyes that he is not afraid. What's more important, he is not repulsed. I am. And I am miserable and sad for it. He tells me this much.  
  
The first time he comes I let him stay on my bed. I am tempted to touch him. I don’t. I look at him for a long time. From somewhere around the room I am able to hear the orphan boy. His screams are soft until they are loud, but not loud enough that anyone can hear them. My ears ring and my mind is filled with gore. Repulsion claws at my throat. For a moment I see the shape of the foreign soldier sleeping on the bed, my bed, until Lucas turns to look at me. The morning has already arrived. The second time he comes I sleep on the sofa of my living room.

Lucas becomes more than a friend, more than a lover. He becomes as essential to me as air. We search for each other when we don’t mean to. I tell him things that others will never know. He gives me his notebook. First I hide it under my bed, and then inside my wardrobe, on the corner where I keep my shoes and the light never reaches. I read it when my ears ring and I can't sleep. My mind drowns in a nostalgia that doesn't belong to me. I run my fingers over the pages. 

He tries to touch me when we are drunk. I place a finger inside his mouth. His eyes flutter shut and he sucks. He sits on my lap. I kiss his neck. I bite it. I I hear him whisper his brother's name in my ear, _'Claus... Claus'_. When I pull him away he shivers and begs me to stay. He tells me this was all a mistake. They were naive, and they didn't know what the world was really like.

 

 

One day I go to him. A day when I am not too busy.  
I come inside the shop which has been painted a lovely color. On the shelves there are many books that cover a wide array of topics. Historical, fiction, for adults, for children. The color of their spines form rows of faded rainbows. Mathias sits behind the counter with Lucas at his side. Mathias recites a line of the large book placed over his lap. Lucas nods and writes something down. I feel warm.

 ‘I brought a gift for Mathias.’

Mathias looks at me. He is quick to reach for the present when Lucas becomes aware of what is happening. He looks at me, parts his lips as if to speaks before Mathias interrupts him.

‘An illustrated encyclopedia!’ He exclaims.’A recent edition! Look at it, Lucas! Look at the details on the drawings! Thank you! Oh, thank you Mr. Peter!’ Little Mathias hugs the book to his chest. I nod and smile.  
  
‘Did something happen?’ Lucas asks.  
  
‘Nothing. I felt like paying you a visit.’  
  
‘Good. I miss you.’  
  
‘I don't believe that.’  
  
Lucas smiles.  
  
‘Won't you have lunch with us, Mr. Peter?’ Mathias asks.’I'll prepare the tea and make some honey and goat cheese sandwiches.’

I turn to the little one and say:

’I suppose I can stay a little longer."  
  
Lucas doesn't object. He closes the shop and we have lunch together. Mathias lectures me on the art of honey-making, the types of bees that exist and the ones that haven’t been discovered. He tells me how to build a bee farm. I don't think I’ll ever do that, but I let him know I am thankful for the knowledge.  
  
He is more intelligent than Lucas and I will ever be. Lucas is proud of this fact. The smile on his face tells me all I need to know. He is almost happy. I almost feel happy too.  
Afterwards Mathias goes to the small garden at the back of the house to read under the new walnut tree that he and Lucas have planted. Lucas pours me some apricot brandy before I go. I wish I could stay with them forever.

‘Open the window, it's nice outside.’ I do as he says. I watch him roll the sleeves of his white blouse. He picks up the plates and carries them to the kitchen.   
  
Outside the sun has reached its highest point. You can tell it’s spring by the color of the sky. A shade of blue that must be felt before it can be named. I lift my head and take a deep breath. I close my eyes. The breeze caresses my face. My cheek, my nose, my lips. I don't realize Lucas has joined me until I feel his hand on mine. He's cold. He says nothing, he doesn't look at me, but I understand him all the better for it. I finish and I thank him and Mathias, and then I run off to attend a mandatory rally.

 

 


	2. Draft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting the draft bcause I like to compare the before & after editing

I caress his face. I run a finger along his cheek, his nose, his lips. I know he's not sleeping, but if he minds my touching he doesn't show it. I wake up early in the morning to make him breakfast. Nothing too laborous, a cup of coffee and a mushroom omelette. We eat in the comfortable silence we have grown accustomed to. When he is finished he thanks me, and then he runs off to open the bookshop.

Lucas doesn't come to me unless he has some trouble, some secret he knows I can keep. Sometimes he comes in the middle of the night to tell me about his nightmares. The amalgamation of burned bodies that reaches and begs him for a piece of bread. The skeleton of his mother and her baby pacing around the house. They wait for him outside his bedroom. The worst ones are usually the ones having to do with his brother, *'Claus'*.

I run my fingers along the strands of his dirty-blond hair. I hold him tight and tell him to calm down, I say that everything is fine, the nightmares are silent. We often fall asleep this way. Bodies tangled in layers of satin and worn wool blankets.

"You love me, even though I don't love you." He tells me one day as he spreads butter on a piece of toast. It's the morning after another one of his nightmares. We are both tired.

I drink from my mug and say,"of what use would it be lying to you?"

"It would be of no use." He fixates his grey eyes on mine.

 

He holds me by the wrists against the straw bed and calls it *'love-making'*. I struggle and scream until I am no longer there. Those screams I hear belong to someone else now. A forgotten and lonely orphan, perhaps. An authentic souvenir of the war. No one cares about the souvenirs unless they become a problem. Then they are discarded. I get hard, and I come. 

I was already an orphan when he found me, the foreign officer. His beauty is something that I try to forget, but I'm reminded of it everywhere I go. Even when I don't go looking for it. - In the corner of my room where the light of my lamp doesn't reach. A dark alleyway. The insinuating smiles of young men I meet at the bar. When I indulge my vice I feel his smile against my neck. He's everywhere and he's nowhere.

I try not to become a problem. I finish my education, I get a job helping the people that need the most help. I don't let my vice get the best of me despite the obstacles that He places before me. When I'm presented with Lucas I stop praying for His forgiveness. I know that I am going to hell.

He is a lifetime younger than I am, but I don't care and I kiss him anyway. His lips are soft against mine. He doesn't move away when I touch him. He aches for it, I can feel it. This forbidden kiss burns at the corners of his soul. I stay looking at his face a bit longer and I see in his eyes that he is not afraid. What's more important, he is not repulsed. But I am. I am sad and miserable for it, and he tells me this much.

 

He tries to touch me when he is drunk, but I never let him. I hear him whisper his brother's name in my ear,*'Claus... Claus'*. 

 

"I brought a gift for Mathias." I go to him one day, a tranquil summer evening when I am not too busy. 

The boy's eyes light up and he reaches for the present before Lucas can look up from his notebook. He looks at Mathias and then at me, his lips are slightly parted."What-"

"An illustrated encyclopedia! A recent edition! Look at it, Lucas! Look at the details on the drawings! Thank you! Oh, thank you Mr. Peter!" I smile and little Mathias hugs the book to his chest.

"Did something happen?" Lucas asks.

"Nothing. I only felt like paying you a visit." 

"Good, I was starting to miss you." 

"Yes, I don't believe that."

Lucas smiles.

"Won't you have lunch with us, Mr. Peter? I'll prepare the tea and make some goat cheese and honey sandwiches." 

"I suppose I can stay a little longer."

Lucas doesn't object. He closes the shop while we have lunch together. Mathias lectures me on the art of honey-making, the types of bees that are employed for this job, and how to raise my own bee farm. I don't see that happening soon, but I am thankful for the knowledge. 

He is just as intelligent as Lucas is. Maybe more. I can tell Lucas is proud by the smile on his face. He is almost happy. I almost feel happy too. 

Afterwards Mathias goes to the small garden at the back of the house to read the encyclopedia under the new walnut tree that he and Lucas have planted. Lucas pours me some apricot brandy before I have to go. I wish I could stay with them forever. 

"Open the window, it's nice outside." He says to me.

Outside the sun is already setting, the sky is painted in hues of orange and red, and colors that have no name. I lift my head and take a deep breath. The breeze of the late summer caresses my face. My cheek, my nose, my lips. I don't realize Lucas has joined me until I feel his hand on mine. He's cold. He says nothing and he doesn't look at me, but I understand him all the better for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine ur one of the five ppl who read this trilogy and u feel like reading some fanfics based on it to ease the pain but u only find this one. 
> 
> Anyways, I took some liberties with canon. Fuck you, I'm coping.


End file.
